Take a Deep Breath
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Tony centric, aftermath of Boxed In. Not my usual.
1. Chapter 1

Take a Deep Breath

by scousemuz1k

**AN: Be warned; this breaks three of my personal canons, things that I said I'd NEVER write. 1: Tony leaves permanently. 2: Tony has OC female romance. (He'd never get a male one with me anyway...) 3: One character is good and the rest are... not so much. **

**I always said I wouldn't write one like that because it's not balanced or accurate. The show isn't like that. They all have their good and bad points, but remain 'family' and no-one's completely horrible or completely wonderful. But hey, the story's been in me for a long time, and in the end it had to come out. Never could resolve some things on the show in my mind...**

**If you don't fancy a story with those elements, stop reading now, please don't message me and tell me I'm being rotten to anyone. I KNOW. **

**Two chapters (I think) and an epilogue. Begins at the end of Boxed In.**

As the cold wave of humiliation splashed over him, and washed the colour from his face, he swallowed. _Whoa, whoa, whoa... _He schooled his expression into blankness instantly, as he willed the flush that had followed the pallor to subside. _Come on, process... rationalise. It can't be that bad... has to be a reasonable explanation..._

He looked across at McGee, and as his stomach sank to his boots he read in a moment that no amount of rationalising was going to deal with this. Tim's expression was still smug, gleeful, and downright anticipatory, matching Ziva's. He knew, and he was set to enjoy the reaction. Tony kept his expression neutral, but the long stare he gave his friend... colleague... had the Probie arranging his features into bland, 'who, me?' innocence at once.

If he hadn't seen that look on Tim's face, he could have kidded himself that no-one but Ziva knew she'd left him out of her dinner – no_, party_, Abby had said... but clearly, he had been denied that mercy. Who else knew? Gibbs? That grin... what happened to 'you don't waste good'? Or rule 1?

_Not here... not here... _

He fought to maintain some sort of equilibrium against the roaring in his ears and the feeling that his thoughts had grown little angry fists and were trying to pound their way out of his brain. Angry? No... not that... stunned. Hurt.

Nobody was looking at him; Abby was bouncing as she enthused about the slow-cooked beef, and all attention was on her. Tony slowly pulled his arm from the sling, which he removed and dropped on the floor behind his desk. Scratch? Bullet wound? Yes, he'd been milking it with the 'who know what happened' thing... but he honestly did have no idea; he hadn't been aware that his arm was hurting, or that there was blood on his sleeve, until they'd stepped out of the container. In the ER he'd peered at it, but it just looked like a bit of a gouge. No idea from what... He picked up his favourite jacket and looked at the darkening patch on the sleeve, shrugged, and put it on anyway.

_It's my own fault for teasing McGee just now... but hey, he didn't put up with it for long, he never does these days, does he... yeah, but maybe if I hadn't teased him he wouldn't be so pleased I got a put-down. Should I have been so surprised? Maybe I had it coming. _

_Not here... not now..._

Abby had moved on to squealing about a triple chocolate maple tart, and the racket she was making was hopefully enough to cover anything he did, as he stood up slowly, reaching for his pack with his left hand.

As he stepped from behind his work-station, though, of course it had to be Ziva who noticed him.

"Tony!" Her voice was sharp with reproof. "Why have you taken your sling off?"

"Because I can't _drive_ with it on, Zeevah," he told her. Well duh, wasn't it obvious?

"You cannot drive anyway!"

"Of course I can. It's just a scratch from a box, remember?"

"But I will drive you home tonight after we have eaten."

He gave her a weary, slightly mournful look. "Ziva, dinner's a really bad idea right now." _After the look you just gave me? I'd probably choke on your food... _"I need a shower, and my bed. I don't really feel like eating."

He muttered a joyless goodnight to the room in general and headed towards the elevator.

"DiNozzo!" _ Of course, Boss, you must get your ten cents worth._

Tony turned slowly. "Gibbs?"

"Let Ziva drive you home."

_No freaking way. _He shook his head slowly. "It's just a scratch, Boss, I'll be fine." He turned back to the elevator and shut out anything that might be going on behind him. He held the cool indifference until the silver doors closed behind him, then leaned back against them, banging his head, and letting out a strangled gasp that could have been a sob.

NCISNCISNCIS

He'd emptied his mind of everything except concentration on his driving; the truth was, it did hurt a bit more than he expected it to, and it was his gear shifting arm , so he'd taken everything slowly and carefully. He had no intention of damaging his Princess, and anyhow, he'd wanted to get home in one piece to do some thinking.

Now he dropped his pack in the corner, and his damaged jacket with it; he wasn't normally a slob but it could wait. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he flung himself down on his sofa, making the springs twang in protest, and let out a long sigh. Time to face the music. _Take a deep breath, Anthony._

Maybe she heard you talking to Marchetti about the mud-wrestling, and decided there was no point in asking you, Anthony thought reasonably.

_What would you have done if it were the other way round? _It was a despondent Tony who retorted. _You'd have asked me to postpone my evening out, or if I couldn't, you'd have rescheduled. Or if you couldn't do that because everyone else – ha! – __**everyone else **__couldn't reschedule for me, cos that's unreasonable,_ _you'd have gone ahead but __**told**__ me about it and said it was a shame but come next time. You would __**not **__have gone ahead and said nothing._

Perhaps it was all spur of the moment.

_And you'd have said, if you knew I had something else on, ok, let's have our spur a different moment. She left me out deliberately._

The reasonable Anthony sighed. There wasn't really an answer to that. So who knew? Didn't anyone notice he wasn't there? Didn't anyone ask?

_Who'd care?_

Now you're being maudlin.

_Maybe. Can't help it – it hurts. For freaks sake, it hurts like hell! Never mind if I deserve it... I can't believe..._

You're not _that_ bad. You tease. You also do things to help them. They've never _told_ you you're that bad...

_So this is a freaking cruel way to say they're fed up of you! _

The despondent Tony wasn't going to be comforted. He actually felt like crying, which was ridiculous. DiNozzos don't... but it was like a physical pain in his chest and gut, and he curled up into a ball. _I wonder if Ducky was there? Surely __**he'd**__ have said something... you're not the centre of the Earth, Anthony, need to stop thinking you are. _He took a long pull from the water bottle, wincing as the five stitches under the dressing on his right arm tugged. He switched the bottle to his left hand.

_You know, _he told his reasonable self sadly,_ whatever I did to earn it, I still don't know how I'll get past it. Defining moment in my life, huh? You know... things you never forget? _He began to list them, from standing in the middle of a luxury suite at the Maui Hilton and realising he was alone. His Dad had forgotten to take him along, wherever he'd gone. Not knowing why he was being loaded into the limo with a packed case, until the chauffeur told him he was going to RIMA. Kate's blood –

Don't go there. Don't go anywhere. You can't change any of it. His reasonable self was stern. We're dealing with now.

_Now, _Tony said bitterly,_ I'm a schmuck who was sailing through life thinking he was well enough liked, and a member of a __**team**__. I'm a schmuck who was __**wrong**__. _

Now you _are _being maudlin. Look, I know it hurts.

_Well gee, thanks for that._

You're welcome.

_Ooh, sarcasm._

Yep, come on, straighten up. What are you going to do?

Well, right now, he was going to have a shower. He gave up the inner debate, since both sides had agreed that he was damn well miserable, and had to do something about it.

As he stood under the cascading hot water, (what a marvellous invention the shower was,) he peeled the dressing from over the stitches. He didn't care about getting them wet, he could re-dress them afterwards – didn't he always keep stuff handy? The wound was only an inch long, and he marvelled at how something that small needed five stitches to close it.

It was still uncomfortable, throbbing and smarting, but he blamed that on the hot water dousing. He turned the water off, put the toilet seat down, and sat on it to dry and bandage the cut, sighing ruefully at the fact that he was as adept at it with his left as his right. He'd had plenty of practise over the years. By the time he'd done it, he'd more or less steamed the rest of him dry, so he pulled on sleeping shorts and headed for his bedroom, only to make a u-turn back to the bathroom cabinet. He doubted he'd sleep much tonight, but he sure didn't want it to be because pain kept him awake, so he washed two Advil down with the rest of the bottled water, and fell into bed.

NCISNCISNCIS

By the time the first light of day was making the edges of the sky purple, Tony's prediction about lack of sleep had definitely come true. He'd only come to one decision, but he was firm on it.

He wasn't going to talk to any of them about it. He wasn't going to ask why, or who knew, or was his absence even noticed by those who didn't... or how long ago it had all been arranged. That was a new thought that shook him. Was it spur of the moment – or had she planned it for a long time? Had the others been invited long ago? Whatever, he wouldn't like the answers to any of those questions, and he was having trouble enough dealing as it was without making things worse by asking them.

If anyone attempted to bait him, he'd pretend ignorance, then deflect. He was good at that. But he hoped nobody would say anything, because what would rubbing it in say about their opinion of him?

_Everything isn't about you. _He shook his head derisively. Oh yes it was; this time it was.

He flung the covers off and got out of bed. His arm still itched and throbbed, so he took another two Advil, and probably ruined their effectiveness by downing a hot, strong (for him) mug of coffee as he stood looking out of his bedroom window, thoughts revolving to no further conclusion. Perhaps if he asked... perhaps there'd be a reasonable answer to comfort him. Then he thought of the two gleeful smiles, and knew just how pointless that hope was.

He put the mug in the dishwasher, yesterday's clothes in the machine, and began to stuff the jacket with its bloodstained sleeve in a plastic bag to take to the dry cleaner. He wasn't going to let the night's events put him off one of his favourite garments. He paused and looked at the stained sleeve; there was an irregular hole in the centre of the dark patch. It didn't look like a bullet hole... but he didn't see how he could have scratched himself through the thick fabric either. He shrugged. Checking the place was tidy, as he always preferred not to come home to a mess he'd left when he went out, he dressed in his running gear and headed out into the chilly, fresh early morning.

One of his favourite routes was a circuit or two of a local park. Three miles to run there, two laps another two miles, and three miles back made an ideal distance and didn't take too long to get in on a morning before work. There were long, slow gradients, so he didn't have to alter pace too much, and the view from the top of the hill was easy on the eye.

Not that he cared this morning; he ran at a blistering pace, hoping that the twang of his calf muscles and the pounding of his feet – and his heart, for that matter, would give him something else to think about than slow cooked beef and beans.

As he came to the top of the hill, pounding a path that threaded between shrubs and bushes, he heard a dog's enthusiastic bark from the lakeside below, and being a curious sort of guy, (McGee didn't call him DiNosey for nothing,) he came down to a jog, and looked down. It was unusual not to have the park to himself at five-fifteen am, but yep, there was a large, shepherd type dog emerging from the water with a ball in its mouth, which it brought to the man who waited on the bank. The guy's cheerfully sarcastic voice drifted up.

"Nice one, Guinness... you let it go in the water deliberately, didn'tcha?" The dog just grinned as the man laughed and ruffled his wet coat. He put the ball into the slinger he was carrying, whirled his arm, and sent the dog off on another gallop, this time towards the children's play area, where he dashed in and out among the climbing frames until he found his toy again.

Tony had come to a halt by now, his attention more on the man who'd remained in the one spot until he set slowly off to follow his canine pal. He carried a stick, and walked as if the whole business of moving hurt him, although he was probably Tony's age or younger. One leg took a lot of effort to move, with an ungainly lurch to one side as the man heaved his hip into the air to take a step. Tony thought sadly, _former soldier... possibly amputee, and still feeling the effects._

The dog ran back to his friend, and bounced up and down, inviting him to run. "Ah, come on, Guinny, have a heart..." but the guy nevertheless set off at an awkward attempt at a run, because the dog wanted him to. He stopped on the edge of the play park, and sat down on a log, rubbing his thigh and grimacing, but he was smiling and his other hand was scratching the dog's ears. Up on the hill, Tony was making no attempt to conceal himself, but the man was clearly unaware of his presence, as his next action proved...

He took a quick look round to see that there was no-one about, although he didn't think to look _up_, and hobbled over to the aerial runway. The dog went with him, bouncing as enthusiastically as before. The guy dragged the seat back as far as he could to the back of the launch pad, climbed aboard and kicked off with his good leg, and whooped with delight as he hurtled the forty or so feet to the other end, bounced against the stop and hurtled back again, with Guinness running beside him all the time.

He climbed carefully off, and he and his dog began to walk away, which brought them back in Tony's direction. As they came level with a large notice at the entrance to the play area, the man pointed at it and laughed. It read, 'Adults must be accompanied by a responsible child', and Tony heard him ask the dog ruefully, "Which of us is which, boy?"

Tony wanted to jog down the hill and say hi, but then thought better of it. He was so disgustingly fit and able bodied; he wasn't about to flaunt it in the other man's face. He began to jog on his way, building up speed gradually, and as he did so, he heard the man's cheerful whistling. Something of Sinatra's...

He ran faster and faster, and didn't bother with a second circuit, pounding and crashing down the suburban pavements until he arrived at his own front door, jaw clenched, chest heaving, and dripping with sweat. He'd learned something, and now he needed the warpaint with which to use what he'd learned.

He showered again, took another couple of Advil before the others could wear off, although the breakfast he should have taken them with didn't appeal, and got his best office suit out of the closet. He dressed to the nth degree of perfection, easing the jacket carefully over the dressing on his arm, and setting his holster a little further to the front than usual to make the draw easier. He styled his hair, one handedly, in the most irreverent style he knew how, and stood in front of the mirror checking out the overall effect. If he didn't look at the hollow eyes, the picture was exactly as he wanted.

If that guy could survive the loss of a limb, and his career smiling and whistling, then _he_ could survive being the only one not invited to a freaking party. He could carry on with the rest of his life and get over yet another 'defining moment', and not be a wimp. Course he could. There'd be some changes, but not so suddenly that anyone would notice, and Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo would keep calm and carry on. Maybe he'd buy a mug that said so.

_Everything is fine... you are __**not**__ hurting about this..._

He was at his desk by six thirty. He took a deep breath, sucked it up and prepared for a brand new day.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to everyone who wasn't signed in; Fred, it was great to hear from you again, I hope you're well! **

**To other guests, I'd just like to say your support's appreciated, but please don't use the review page to have a go at each other. Not that I'm egotistical, much, but please again, just stick to the tale!**

**You might say what the heck, I thought you said he was leaving – well, he will, but I wanted it to be in the Vance era, and after all, Tony DIDN'T quit after Boxed In when a lot of us thought he should have spat on their boots and gone. I'm not dwelling on all the things that happened in the five years, we all know what they were and don't need a chronological list, just take it that he's thought about every one of them... **

**I think I was optimistic again saying two chapters.**

Take a Deep Breath

Chapter 2

And here he was, doing it again. Back to the beginning. Where he started. Ultimately, nothing changed after five years of too many deep breaths and jaws aching with sucking it up. He realised with a jolt that he was wearing the same suit... Still one of his favourites, classic and timeless, but getting worn and tired, and just about ready to be moved on. Maybe that was a sign; an omen, because this time he honestly didn't think he had one more deep breath left in him.

He'd started as he meant to go on that day...

_He pushed the mouse pad right to the back of his desk, so he could rest his whole forearm on the wood; it was still bothering him. Maybe... no, no way was he wearing that sling and being accused of milking that scratch. But he typed up his report with his left hand only until Tim and Ziva walked in. By then he'd nearly finished, so he rested his elbow on his knee and no-one was any the wiser. He'd answered their surprised greeting in the same tone he always used, having primed himself an hour ago to be his usual self, which would be fine as long as he didn't have to keep it up constantly. He went on with what he was doing; which was looking at the port authority guy Lake's financial affairs. Apparently you could do seriously well for yourself by looking the other way often enough._

_Gibbs arrived with two cups of coffee and a grunt that could have been a greeting, and the morning rolled on. Tony found he didn't have it in him to be the life and soul of the party, but he didn't sulk either, although his arm was bothering him. He was wondering how he could get down to Ducky without being called a wimp, when the man himself hurried in._

"_Anthony... I've received a faxed report from the ER at George Washington... I had no idea you'd been injured again." He paused, raising an eyebrow as Tim and Ziva snorted and exchanged glances. "I'm so sorry, dear boy, I would have checked you over last night had I been here, but you know, Mother's not very well at the moment. I've not left the house for a week except when the day nurse is there. How is your arm?"_

"_He's fine, Ducky," Gibbs said sharply. If DiNozzo had been fit to drive home last night then he was fit now._

_Ducky didn't look round at him; it really wasn't up to Jethro to say. The ME was as good at sensing an atmosphere as the next man, so he ignored the team leader, looked Tony in the eyes and waited. He saw the flicker of – what? Annoyance? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone from Anthony's face as quickly as it had appeared, but the doctor was still a little surprised when the younger man opted for the truth._

"_It's a bit more bothersome than I expected, Ducky," he admitted. He flicked another, defiant look at Gibbs; which the Boss caught;__** he'd**__ decide whether he was fine or not. Gibbs knew he'd overstepped the mark, and Tony was letting him know plainly that he wouldn't be pushed around. Gibbs wasn't sure he liked it, but he didn't react. _

" _Hmm. Did they x-ray it? The report didn't mention it, and it's always a wise precaution."_

"No, they didn't. I mean it was obvious it wasn't broken."

_Again, Ducky harrumphed. "Anthony, while I'm prepared to accept that you know more about these things than any non-medical person should, I shall still insist on being the judge of that myself. Come down to autopsy right away. I insist."_

_Gibbs glared at them as they went; Tony wore the same mask of cool indifference he'd kept handy in his pocket since last night._

Ducky had found a sliver of wood driven deep into the muscle, and Tony had endured the business of extracting it again. There was also the matter of the antibiotic injection to nip the threatened infection in the bud – for some reason Ducky felt this was best administered in the gluteus maximus, which left Tony feeling rather resentful, and glad his colleagues hadn't been there to see.

Well, it explained what had happened – a bullet had hit a crate and sent a shard of wood flying hard enough to rip his jacket and dig a groove in his arm. He must have knocked the bulk of it off without even noticing. He'd given Ziva the benefit of the doubt – if it had been her bullet that did the damage he thought he'd have known at the time. Part of him chided that he'd been the klutz who lit a fire with the money, but hey, a ricochet's a quicker way to die than smoke inhalation. They both should have known better...

He'd asked after Mrs Mallard; already having discovered to his great relief, that Ducky hadn't been at the dinner. The doctor's next words threw him for a loop.

"She's a little better today, thank you, Anthony. I'm sorry I missed the dinner party though – I'd been looking forward to it. Did you all have an entertaining evening?"

How he wanted to pour his heart out to the good old man... and how much of an effort it took him to smile and say "Oh, I didn't make it either," and deflect the conversation back to Mrs Mallard, only he'd ever know. But there was no point in involving Jethro's friend, and one of the best people Tony had ever known, in this strange internecine conflict he found himself in the middle of. He resisted the temptation to ask Ducky how long he'd been looking forward to the party, and after offering to visit his mother if it would help, he headed back to his desk, to find that the ME had phoned ahead to explain about the unpleasant extraction of the piece of wood, and to place Tony on desk duty for the rest of the day, to give him a chance to recover his equilibrium. "Try to catch a nap, Anthony, you look as if the pain kept you awake all night."

_If only you knew, Ducky, if only you knew..._

Of course this hadn't gone down too well with the others when they'd caught a case, but Tony had pointed out, quite calmly, all things considered, that he knew how to pull any information they might request while he lounged around here. And if there was somewhere he didn't know to look, he was sure McGee would be happy to tell him. Only Gibbs had registered the absence of a nickname.

He sighed. He'd got himself back to normal, at least on the surface, pretty quickly, and Gibbs seemed to have got the message that he had his limits, but of course that all went up in flames soon afterwards with the explosion that blew the Boss back fifteen years. And if he had a graph for every time he'd 'got himself back to normal' since then – through seeing his things dumped back on his desk; Jeanne – no, that wasn't the team, although they were sure helpful afterwards; Somalia, and admitting it'd been impossible to live without her – he was just grateful the serum hadn't made him add that it was just as difficult to live _with_ her – and three weeks later she was dangling that _worth_less mercenary Werth under his nose - _ stoppitt! _

Why was he _doing_ this? He _wasn't_ going to rehash everything that had happened from then until now... if he did that graph would look like crocodile teeth. Ack... not a good picture... the teeth were getting smaller and smaller with every effort to take a deep breath and carry on, and now... he was pretty sure he'd reached the last tooth. He noticed a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. The beginning of the end; he'd soon be saying a sad goodbye to a dear old friend. Even his suit was telling him something. His phone buzzed.

"Hey, DiNozzo, Lee. You alone?"

Lee Pardlow, technical services at Metro. Friend he could trust.

"Yeah, right now."

"This hypothetical situation... the guy had a throat mike, right, so his back-up could hear him. He didn't have an ear-piece, might have been noticed, so he couldn't hear them. No way he could ask a question and not get an answer, and know they weren't listening. I checked the specs of the equipment you guys were using, and honestly, there's no way of telling. If they turned the sound right down, not _off_, everything would go on working, recording; they just wouldn't be hearing you."

He paused, and went on tentatively, "Tony...if you were the guy... if it was your team... I'm sorry, pal, I wish I could have clarified for you. It could easily be done, and no-one would ever know. Look... maybe they were joking..."

Tony's heart sank past its previous location round his kneecaps and down into his immaculate Italian boots. "'Kay, Lee, don't worry about it. And thanks for trying. I'll buy you a beer." The Metro guy said a rueful 'ciao' and disconnected.

Damn... he'd wanted to know either way. If they were telling the truth, that'd be him out of there. If not, it still told him what they thought of him, as if he didn't know, and he'd start looking. He remembered the books in their hands; OK, you can read and listen, but... OK, no you can't.

"Hey!" A light voice spoke above his head, and he looked up. Three people stood at the entrance to the bull pen; the other three Senior Field Agents of the DC office.

Tony grinned, and it was genuine; these guys and their weekly meeting kept him sane. "Sorry Aydie, I forgot it was Thursday." He pushed his chair away; Gibbs had gone for coffee, but would remember when he got back what day and time it w as. He had no idea where the other two were, and was truly grateful that he had this meeting to ground him before he saw them again. He followed the other SFAs down to the conference room.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs came out of the elevator in time to see DiNozzo leaving with his colleagues and remembered what day it was. He had a moment of irritation when he realised he couldn't get mad at his SFA for not being at his desk; he looked across and the said desk was neat and up to date as far as he could see, and a couple of completed reports were on his desk.

He didn't know why he wanted to yell at his SIC, except that yelling always made him feel better; he couldn't fault DiNozzo for how he was doing his job, his work was the same excellent standard it had always been. His focus was better than ever in the field; he seldom goofed off, and almost never made a movie reference; it was as if he'd grown up all of a sudden.

_All of a sudden? _Gibbs thought about that, and realised that things had been different for a while. DiNozzo did his job. That was it. No lightening the atmosphere, no leaping headlong, mouth running away, into the gap between the Boss's temper and the two younger agents. He'd seen Ziva glaring at Tony a few times when he'd left her and McGee to fend for themselves. He still took anybody's paperwork if they were snowed under, but he did it efficiently and without the exaggeratedly noble, martyred expression they'd had to put up with if they wanted the work done.

Something had changed with DiNozzo; and Gibbs fought down a snarl. He thought they understood each other. If something was wrong, why hadn't the idiot come to him a long time ago?

NCISNCISNCIS

In the conference room Archie poured coffee, and the four sat comfortably round the table. _Almost_ comfortably – all four were aware that two of them weren't exactly cheerful just now. Tony, in his position as elder statesman of the four, spoke first. "Out with it, Aydie – what's put that look on your face? We'll go and rip his ears off for you."

Balboa's SFA nodded; and the high, wide and handsome sandy-haired man would have done it too. Derry Sharp – so archetypically Texan, with his irony-laced drawl, he didn't take kindly to being called 'cowboy', but Archie had stuck. "Not just his ears," he said hopefully.

Edith Martin, she'd introduced herself, just a month ago. Eh-_deet_ Mar-_tan._ Grown up in Quebec City, Canadian Dad, American mother. Came to DC aged 16, joined Metro PD straight from university. Fled to San Diego and NCIS nine years later, in the wake of a disastrous marriage, and now, ten years after that, rising forty and didn't care who knew it, _'I'm waiting for life to begin'_ – she was back as the most promising SFA Vance had had for years. She looked sad.

"Try Mrs Marchetti," she said softly. "I'm no sooner in DC than I think I'll be moving on again." Dawn Marchetti was suffering from severe post-natal depression, and nothing would convince her that her husband having a female Senior Field Agent was a good idea. "Dawn's _ill_," she went on after explaining. "She's not just being awkward. Anyway, I told Dave that I'd move on as soon as something came up. The Director knows."

Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Ben Waterson, the quiet law graduate said sadly, "Hell, gonna miss you, girl. Just got used to having you around... anything we can do?"

Aydie laughed sadly. "Don't throw me a party – I'd lose it. We could all go out to dinner, though."

Tony's heart had fallen out of his boots and bounced off into a corner somewhere. He liked the French-Canadian-American, with her bounce and vitality, and her ability to listen quietly when it was needed, and not say something trite or silly just for the sake of saying _something_. He mentally shook his head. _There you go again, DiNozzo, thinking of yourself... _Another thought struck him, and he wondered if he ought to say anything. It wasn't fair, either way. Too late, Archie had seen the look.

"Whatcha thinking, DiNo?"

"Ah... well... yeah... I shouldn't say it. Should let you make up your own mind..."

"But?"

"It's... oh, it's maybe not so likely just yet anyway... but if you were ever offered SFA on Gibbs' team... I'm not saying don't take it... but think first."

"Mmm...I don't think it's likely, not enough experience, and he'd probably want McGee anyway... but hey, I know about Gibbs' temper."

"That's not all... nah, forget I spoke. I knew I shouldn't before I opened my mouth."

"What he means is," Ben said patiently, "it's not just Gibbs you'd be up against. Waitwaitwait...you're _leaving? _That's why you were so deep in thought you didn't see us waiting for you? I know things were tough, but... sheesh, things _are_ going to be different round here."

"I'm not going to throw my badge at him and storm out," Tony said quietly. "I could go to Homeland, or the Feebies... but I like NCIS, and I've got friends here. But I'm too worked up at the moment to think clearly, so I'm thinking I'll talk to Vance – but not for a day or two, or maybe next week. I think his opinion of me's improved, but I need to have my head on straight."

Ben offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he worked for a placid leader, then said cautiously, because Tony never did rat on what people had done to annoy him, "So what are you worked up about? What did the terrible two do? "

Tony actually debated telling them, just for a moment or two, but if they hadn't really done it, he didn't want to be responsible for the whole DC office refusing to work with them, so he smiled his thanks at the offer to listen, and shook his head. "Oh, they're always doing something to annoy me... so... Aydie, I hope you find a good spot, you've earned it. Now, what have we got for this week?"

NCISNCISNCIS

When Tony returned from his meeting, Gibbs was at his desk, but there was still no sign of McGee and Ziva. _Probably down with Abby, sticking pins in a little Tony-doll because he wouldn't take the knocks for them anymore. _There was a time he could talk to Abby about anything at all; but he was aware that as he'd gradually changed, she'd not, and she wanted him to stay the same. He couldn't, so they weren't as close these days.

He felt sad about that, and it must have crept onto his face because Gibbs' tone was on the accusing side as he barked, "Ya know where McGee and Ziva are?"

"No, Boss, I don't."

"Ya didn't think to find out before you went off for your meeting?"

"I've not seen them all morning, Boss. I'll call them."

He began to pull his phone from his pocket, but Gibbs said, "In a minute."

Tony looked at him in puzzlement, as he shoved his chair back, stalked over to his SFA's desk and leaned on it.

"What the hell is up with you, DiNozzo?"

"Boss?"

"I thought we understood each other. You have a problem, you come to me."

"Problem, Boss?" Tony's voice was calm, and he raised one eyebrow a la James Bond, but he was cornered and he didn't want to do this...

"You try to pretend those two don't exist half the time. They say things to you and you just ignore them."

"Maybe I don't like what they say, Gibbs."

"You got a problem with them, tell me!"

"I'm fine, Boss."

"DiNozzo, _what is your problem with your team_?"

Team. Enough. "Apart from the fact that they seldom open their mouths but to have a go at me, you mean? Well, I'll tell you. How many hours did I walk round Royal Woods getting voice samples? Lost my freaking voice? My _team_ tells me that for the last two hours they turned the sound off, and didn't listen to me."

"Ah, the hell, DiNozzo, is that what this is about? Ya make enough jokes, can't ya take one?"

**AN: Off to VP's now for a few days – I hope Mr VP can get the BBQ out some time, he's the King... but right now there's a thunderstorm out there, and the rain's persisting down. Better post this before the lightning knocks the power out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hearty thanks again to the unsigned-in reviewers; some very thoughtful, constructive and encouraging comments. Earthdragon, ta!**

**Not entirely happy with this – it rambles a bit, yet I'm still sure there are things I've left out! **

Take a Deep Breath

Chapter 3

Ducky had remarked to Gibbs a long time ago that he thought the reason why Anthony was so good at undercover work was that he'd been honing the skill, living that way, since childhood. And that was all he'd been willing to say on the subject. If Gibbs had blinked, he'd have missed the flinch, and the moment of pain and despair that crossed the younger man's face, before that g'damn mask was back, but he _did_ see it, and actually found himself back-pedalling a little. He spoke before the Italian could even draw breath.

"They were _joking,_ DiNozzo. They said they'd told you they'd turned the radio down to wind you up. Ya think they'd really leave you without back-up?"

Tony just looked at him expressionlessly. "You think they wouldn't?"

Was that what DiNozzo was thinking? Did he think that badly of his team-mates? They did seem to be on his case all the time, he thought that was just their way, but... "DiNozzo, it was a _joke_."

"Then I bow to your superior knowledge, Gibbs; you asked, I told you. There's nothing more to say." He returned his attention to his computer, to update the log he kept of the weekly meetings, but Gibbs wasn't done.

"The hell there isn't –"

Tony leaned back in his chair. "OK, go ahead."

"Whad d'ya mean?"

Tony took a deep breath and spoke calmly; inside he didn't know whether to laugh, cry, punch Gibbs or scream.

"You said there's more to say, so say it." He knew he was goading the man; many a time he'd done it in the past for the Boss's own good, to make him release tension before he exploded. This time was different; he was provoking the Marine to make _himself _feel better, something he could never have imagined doing. He'd never wanted to call Gibbs a jerk to his face before either, but if the Boss didn't break, he felt sure _he_ would. He was more relieved than he could measure to know that Gibbs wasn't complicit with hanging him out to dry, or approving of it, but the man who'd once told him you don't waste good was still happy with the joke, and that was killing him. _Shows exactly what he thinks of you, DiNozzo._ His gut was in knots.

"I mean you, dammit –" The elevator opened, to disgorge a laughing Ziva and Tim. The laughter died abruptly at the tableau before them; Gibbs snarling across Tony's desk, and the younger man's body language as he sat there telling the Boss without saying a word, that he could go screw himself. The Marine realised he was drawing an audience, his jaw snapped shut, and he straightened up. "Going for coffee," he grunted, and stalked out.

"My..." Ziva drawled, "What have you done to annoy Gibbs this time, Tony?"

He scarcely bothered to look at her. "If you'd been here, you'd know." He turned back to his log again.

Ziva wasn't done. She sashayed over to Tony's desk and leaned over in an exact echo of what Gibbs had been doing. "No, Tony, I insist. We are team-mates, yes? If you and Gibbs are not seeing eyes to eyes it concerns us, yes?"

Tim said uneasily, "Ziva..." Nobody seemed to hear him.

"Like I said, if you'd been here, you wouldn't be asking. You didn't have to check with Abby that your asses were covered, incidentally; I was the only one being recorded." Tim winced; how did he know that was where they'd been? "There's no way of telling if you were joking or not. Now, remove your hands from my desk or I'll do it for you."

"Ha! I would like to see you try, Tony. What –"

The SFA hooked his fingers under the edge of his desk and pulled it sharply towards him; Ziva had to snatch her hands away and take a couple of steps backwards to keep her balance. Tim suppressed a smile. But really, it didn't do to make Ziva mad – Tony was for it. The Israeli began to stutter and threaten, and the senior agent stood up. He looked at her, _eyes to eyes_.

"Go sit down, Ziva," he said quietly... and to Tim's absolute astonishment, Ziva did.

Tony completed his update, and settled in to study the particular cold case he'd selected to keep him occupied when there was nothing else going on – or rather, he tried, not even hearing the hissed speculation going on between his colleagues, and not aware of the Director up on the mezzanine, looking and listening with a thoughtful frown.

Since there really was no way of knowing, and since they'd clearly got in before him and told Gibbs they hadn't really switched him off, _and_ since Gibbs had given them the benefit of the doubt, he had to. _But,_ since they'd been happy to joke about not watching his back, (and he hadn't forgotten they'd gone armed with reading material so he still wasn't convinced,) he had to assume that he'd be watching it himself for as long as he stayed around. There were jokes, and there was _malice_.

When Gibbs' desk phone rang a few minutes later, and Tony answered it to find they had a case, he was happy to have something more healthy to occupy his mind. As he called Gibbs and Ducky to let them know a dead man had been found, he thought _did I really think that_? The other two looked curiously at the guilty expression on his face, but he didn't enlighten them.

The body had been there for some time, in all weather; it was the unpleasant smell that had led a local man to investigate in the wooded gully. A smudged but partially readable note that Ducky removed from the cadet's hand, the one that wasn't holding the gun, suggested suicide, but gave no explanation. Perhaps what Abby retrieved from the blurred paper would reveal more. As Tony photographed the tragic, unpleasant scene, he periodically scanned the surroundings before returning to the task.

"Tony," Ziva said sweetly, "we are not on jungle patrol."

The SFA shrugged. "If it's not in Gibbs' rules it should be – DiNozzo's rule number two, then, always be aware of your surroundings. I'm being aware." He walked away before she could ask him what rule one was. (It was the same as Gibbs's.)

"Ah – Anthony." Ducky's cultured tones came from behind him, and he turned with a genuine smile. "Mr Palmer is sitting an examination this morning, so I am without an assistant. Would you mind...?"

"No problem, Ducky." Of course there was; the corpse was putrefying, and Tony hastily shucked himself into a spare jumpsuit before taking a different sort of deep breath, and going to help the ME. Ziva smirked. Tim gave him a tentative, rueful, 'sooner you than me' smile, which Tony tried to return and managed to find a weak imitation, before Gibbs' irritated shout took the younger man back to what he was doing.

"Jethro," Ducky said a few minutes later, "because of Mr Palmer's absence I shall require assistance back at the yard. I shall take Anthony, since he's already suited up."

"Sure. Whatever." If Gibbs thought his ears might burn from any conversation the two might have, he gave no sign. He couldn't figure DiNozzo anymore, and if there was a small voice in the pit of his mind telling him that could be down to him, he ruthlessly suppressed it. You did things his way in his team.

Tony was about to head for the driver's side, but although Ducky was usually happy to hand the work over to a younger person if he could, he shook his head, with a smile, and climbed in himself. They journeyed in silence for a while, until the elderly man said gently, "Well, Anthony, where to begin?"

Tony had half suspected that this was Ducky's reason for bringing him along, and he'd been debating whether to put the doctor off with deflections, which would have been churlish after his kindness, (and how he needed someone to talk to right now,) or tell the truth and complain bitterly about one half of a close friendship to the other half. He banged his head back against his seat, and sighed.

"I have no idea where the beginning is, Ducky. He brought me here from Baltimore. Got me back here from Agent Afloat. Did he only do that because I badgered him so much?"

"Did it really start that far back?"

"I don't know. Was he mad at me for Ziva ending up in Somalia? He thinks of her as a daughter..." Ducky drove sedately, and waited. "We got her back... against all the odds. I was so glad... but... it's as if what she went through took her soft side and left nothing but hard edges."

"So is it guilt that made you let her make you a target for her spite?"

"I don't know... maybe... yeah. If it'd make her feel better."

"But then," Ducky said heavily, "she brought Timothy on board, and in the end, Gibbs." Tony looked at him in surprise, and Ducky read it without taking his eyes off the road. "Do you really think I don't notice these things?"

"Shoulda realised."

"Anthony, she is a very damaged and angry young woman, we know that. But you didn't damage her. And there are other ways of seeking healing than choosing a target you know won't fight back and attacking until it crumbles. You hold out, and it makes her more angry still that she cannot reduce you to dust. Do... do you love her?"

"Maybe I did then... I don't know if love's the word... she was part of all our lives, and I couldn't handle things without her – I would have died for her, sure. But I can say that about all of you. No... I don't love her like that, not now. Even the most confirmed masochist can't go on loving forever someone who doesn't love them. Hates – no, at least intensely dislikes them."

"I repeat, it is not your fault."

"I put four rounds in Rivkin... Maybe I was jealous like she said. No... he was hurting her, I was angry. And hey, I was on the ground and he wasn't."

Ducky shook his head. "You don't need to joke your way out of things with me."

"I know. Sorry." By now, Ducky was bringing the truck to a halt, and he waited until they were lifting the sad remains in the black zippered bag from gurney to table before he spoke again.

"What now, dear boy?"

Tony voiced for the first time the painful truth. "I... I'm not slamming my badge down and storming out... but I've come to the end of the road with Gibbs. I should go." He looked desperately at his old friend. "Am I wrong? Please don't tell me I'm wrong."

"Ah, if I said you were, I'd be saying I think you should stay. You're not wrong, Anthony. Jethro is my friend, and I regret that I haven't bent his ear already about how he lets that young lady rule the roost. But you deserve far better than he's handing you, and even if he were to change, I doubt you'd feel the same again. You'd be wondering when it would all start up again. Just don't be hasty. Pick the right door to leave by."

Tony smiled slightly. "Mmm – I said something like that to Aydie this morning – "

Ducky beamed. "Ah, yes, the delightful Miss Mar_tan_. A real breath of fresh air around the place, I must say. From the use of a nick-name, am I to surmise that you get on well with her?"

"_Ducky! _I meant Aydie and the other two SICs. You know we meet up every week. Yes, I _do_ get on well with her, _and_ with Archie and Ben."

"I do know, Anthony, and I'm happy that you've got people in your corner. There... consider your duty done; this is one post mortem procedure I shouldn't like to put you through. The degree of putrefaction – "

"I get the message, Ducky, and I'm out of here, believe me."

"Just one more thing, Anthony." The old ME laid his hand on Tony's arm. "Never forget that I'm here for you too, as I have always been. That will never change."

"I know, Ducky. You just did. Were. Here. Hell..." Tony turned away for a moment, gulping, as he began to strip off the sickly smelling jumpsuit, and then said, "Ah, damn. I loved this old suit."

"Oh dear. I gather it's been contaminated in spite of the protective clothing?"

"Yeah... well, at least now I know what to do with it..." Ducky didn't ask, as he solemnly handed Tony a large bag with a strong seal. The threadbare jacket went in, and the pants would join it as soon as Tony had fetched his change of clothes from his workstation. "Thanks, Ducky," the Italian said softly, and he didn't just mean for the plastic bag.

Less than twenty minutes later, showered and changed, mask firmly in place, Tony returned to his desk. The junior agents sniffed suspiciously, but he laughed. "No, I do _not_ smell like a corpse. I borrowed Special Agent Martin's verbena body wash. I smell bee-ootiful."

"So you should, since you have been gone long enough to have two showers," Ziva said tartly, and the SFA grinned like a shark.

"You can come down and put a stopwatch on me next time, if you like."

He felt weird; one part of him was grieving the loss of his surrogate family and home; another part was feeling almost physically sick with anger – oh, and betrayal – and another part, especially since talking to Ducky and actually speaking the unthinkable, felt completely calm, floating as if a great weight that he'd borne for years had suddenly fallen from his shoulders. He worked on

By late afternoon they knew the cadet had died by his own hand; by early evening interviews were completed, and around 19.00 hours, they were done. Gibbs growled at them to go home, and looked over at DiNozzo to see if he had anything to say, but the Senior Field Agent gave a cheery goodnight to everyone, grabbed his back-pack and sauntered off.

As soon as he was out of sight of the others, he relaxed the swagger, and by the time he got down to his parking slot he was slouched and scowling. He had a night to get through and some thinking and planning to do. He straightened up again when he saw a tall, skinny figure standing by his car. Edith Martin wore a vibrant dark turquoise embroidered jacket and black leggings with a short skirt attached, but it was her footwear that caught Tony's attention. Black knee-high matt leather boots, with thick ribbed flat soles, and tags hanging from zippers; he'd never have imagined the sensibly attired Special Agent Martinin such things.

"Wow," he said, "the Boots of Power! Looking good, Mar-_tan_ – whatcha doing here?"

"We thought," Aydie said cheerfully, "that you might need someone to drag you out for a drink. It's been a tough day."

"And you drew the short straw?" He regretted the hint of bitterness in his voice as soon as he'd spoken, and hoped Aydie had missed it. No chance.

"Will you quit that? You know damn well that's not how we think of you."

"Hey, I'm sorry. Bitching at the wrong people."

"Bitch away. Ben's got a date, and Archie's got a deadline to get an essay in, but he says if we let him know where we are he'll come out to play later. So, bar or coffee house? Cake shop?"

"_Cake_ shop?"

"Sure! Grab some carbohydrates! Don't you know that sweet, starchy carbs raise serotonin levels in the brain, and act as a natural tranquiliser? Lift your happy levels? Just what you need."

By now she'd shoved her arm through Tony's, and was steering him towards the main gates on foot.

"Er... but carbs make you fat..."

"Not me. I have the appetite and metabolism of a garbage compactor. Come on, DiNo, if you don't want cake that's fine; you say, but we're going to do _something._"

By the time Archie found them three hours later they were full of burgers and fries, a couple of beers or three each, and had even tracked down somewhere to get large wedges of coffee cake.

Sitting on his doorstep early next morning, waiting for Archie to come by, Tony realised just how skilful Aydie Martin had been: enough beer to loosen him up, with enough good food to stop him from getting drunk on a school night. Enough gentle prodding to get him _saying_ the things he needed to get out, enough of her own life story that he didn't think he was just there to be interrogated. _(Never marry an actuary, Tony, you'll drown in a sea of probables without anything ever being possible!) _

She'd even come up with some useful pointers on his pet cold case, when she'd reminded him that she'd been with Metro ten years ago!

He'd slept well, all things considered; all the decisions he thought he'd have to make overnight had already been dealt with, and although his heart was heavy whenever he stopped to check on it, the beer had taken care of any possible insomnia. This morning, he'd taken his old suit down to the back lot behind his condo, and set fire to it in the barbecue pit. Watching it burn, he felt as if his old life was going up in flames. So be it.

Archie, their taxi last night as well, arrived with Aydie sprawled across the back seat trying to catch a last nap before the working day began; high metabolism or not she wasn't a good starter, she'd warned them. Looked like she was right.

When he arrived at his desk Tony saw by the cup on the Boss's desk that Gibbs was already somewhere in the building, but neither Ziva nor Tim's usual stuff was there. Tony unlocked his top drawer and took out the folder containing the cold case from ten years ago, to see if what Aydie had remembered would be of any help. He spent a few minutes studying, then his desk phone rang. He spent a few more minutes in animated conversation with the caller, and ended up chuckling a little as he disconnected.

"Ya got time for personal calls, DiNozzo?"

"Oh, morning, Boss."

"Well?"

Tony let it roll off him – it didn't matter anymore. "Well, wha – oh, no, not at this time of the morning. That was Agent Martin."

"Martin?" Gibbs pronounced it Martin as in Steve. "What's she want?"

"Agent Mar-_tan_'s helping me with a cold case, Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't answer, and marched over to his own desk. It wasn't long before he was on the attack again. "Thought I asked for your report before you left last night."

"It's there, Gibbs, I mailed it and gave you a hard copy. It's at the bottom of the pile because I finished first. I did less than the others –"

"Ya did?" The Boss seemed to be spoiling for a fight. More of the same.

"Because," Tony said with heavy patience, "I was helping Ducky in Jimmy Palmer's absence. When I returned I did four telephone interviews, and you have the report on them too." He pushed his chair back, and looked around to check that no-one else was nearby as he crossed to stand in front of Gibbs' desk. In his mind's eye he saw his old suit burning. "What went wrong, Boss?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Just that. You brought me here. You brought me _back _after the team was split up. Now you can't stand the sight of me. Just thought you might like the chance to tell me why."

"DiNozzo, I have no idea what you're talking about."

_Well, that was about the response I expected... _"Ah. Well then, you just need to know that I'm sick of being a target, and I've no intention of being reduced to a doormat. By you, or them."

"Fine. Ya done?"

"Yes, Gibbs," Tony said seriously, "I do believe I am."

**AN: I was actually IN Washington DC with Proseac – me, scouse, still can't believe it – was it really only nine weeks ago – and I can vouch that there are many great eating places within easy walking distance of the Navy Yard. That's easy if it's not mid-afternoon and 23 degrees. We walked the entire perimeter of the Yard, nearly melted, and I took pics from the USS Barry of the front door of the NCIS building – I know they're not there anymore and I'll wait a long time before I'll see Tony, but what a marvellous time I had! Thanks, Liz!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks again to the unsigned-in readers, I wish I could thank you all personally. **

**Wytygr: Point taken on the radio; but I've based the entire story on the info my scouse radio geek cop gave me. Ziva and Tim weren't recorded because they weren't miked up, because they had no reason to talk to Tony, and his earpiece might have been seen. So anything they said in the car, turn off/don't turn off – well, there's no evidence. If they'd received a message from HQ that he was in danger, they were supposed to be close enough to physically intervene right away, without wasting time talking first. Go with the flow for me, please? **

**I've stopped discriminating between how Aydie's name is spelled or pronounced; some people get it right, some don't, some won't.**

**Great quote from Cackymn, borrowed (adapted to fit) with her permission!**

Take a Deep Breath

Chapter 4

By now, the other two team members were hovering by the elevator, but when it became clear there were no fireworks to be hoped for, Ziva stalked to her desk. Tim moved a bit more slowly, hoping he could maybe catch Tony's eye, maybe... he didn't know what... he was finding himself uneasy lately about how things had become between them all.

OK, so he knew he'd played his part in it, solidly behind the other two in the systematic isolation of the Senior Field Agent... that was the word. _Behind_. For a long time he'd been happy to have an ally against Tony's hazing, but Tony had always been up front, and left plenty of room for retaliation; the control Ziva had over him was far more subtle. Where she led, it was clear he followed. He didn't like it anything like he used to, and the latest thing had clearly been a step too far for Tony; but since the Boss had long ago come in on Ziva's side, Tim wondered how he'd ever find the will to do any different.

Just as he resolved to try, and began to head for Tony's desk, Aydie Martin said "DiNo," as she hurried towards them. The SFA had been wondering whether to sit quietly at his desk, or abandon his vow not to act rashly and storm up to camp outside Vance's door. He turned towards her, profoundly grateful for the interruption. He smiled as he saw the orange folder she was carrying, and turned away from Gibbs' desk to meet her just outside the bullpen.

"That was quick!"

She shook her head, and the comb that kept her ash-blonde hair more or less under control almost fell out. "Well, I've kept my own personal cold cases file; anything that's ever bothered me. And anything I didn't have, I knew where to find it." She handed Tony the folder. "Hope it helps." She lowered her voice. "And DiNo, I hope you were serious about what you just said to Gibbs. Call me a stirrer... but it's time."

He laughed softly. "You can stir my coffee with a canoe paddle, Martin_. _Thanks for this... I'll look through it and call you." He was turning towards his desk, and Aydie was about to return to hers, when Leon Vance's voice called from the mezzanine, "Agent DiNozzo. Would you come up to my office, please?"

"Right away, Director." _Great... he's going to fire me before I can request a transfer_. He put the file down on his desk, gave Aydie a half smile, and headed for the stairs. She watched him go, with a more relaxed expression than the one he was wearing.

Gibbs watched her standing there, and barked in the tone that habitually reduced other agents to jelly, "You got time to stand around and gossip, Martin?"

She watched Tony disappear, smiled pleasantly, and said, "My team leader knows what I'm doing with my time, Special Agent Gibbs, and where, and why." _None of your business _hung in the air as she walked unhurriedly back to her team's area.

"She is encouraging Tony to waste time," Ziva said waspishly.

_Go on... _Tim urged himself. "She brought something about a cold case for him, Ziva. That's hardly wasting time," he said reasonably.

"Ha! And who will end up having to deal with that file? While Tony is running some errand for the Director? We will, or more likely _you_, Tim, because he enjoys making you do his work."

Tim looked across at Gibbs, but the Boss didn't comment either way, he was sunk in his own thoughts. The young agent sighed to himself and opened up a cold case window.

NCISNCISNCIS

"Sit down, DiNozzo." The Director's tone was pleasant enough, but Tony had already spotted his own file, open on Vance's desk. _What the hell, there's always Tobias... _He sat down and waited.

"I see you've been taking computer courses over the past couple of years."

Tony assumed he was being invited to comment, so he did. "Yes... I know I'll never be around even the foothills of Mount McGee, but I need to at least keep up with the rest of us."

"Mmm..." The Director picked up a copy of the in-house magazine, which was open at an article: 'Cover? What Cover?' by Officer Plod. "Is this you?"

"How did – "

"Seems your style."

Tony looked embarrassed. "Yeah, that's me."

"I like it. Tips on not blowing your cover... told by way of fictitious, funny situations. They _are_ fictitious, aren't they?"

"Most of them were," Tony mumbled, going pink. "Some people... don't like to be told. Lectured. But if they laugh, and take notice of a few of the things I said there, it could save their life one day."

"D'you want some coffee, DiNozzo? We have a lot to talk about."

When Tony came down from the giddy heights twenty-five minutes later, he carried a box file, and wore an expression that was somewhere between thoughtful and thunderstruck.

Ziva looked across at the file and tried to read what was written on it. Tony found a perverse delight in keeping the label covered, although there was nothing written on it; Liz, the Director's secretary had found it for him, simply to keep together the five other files he'd been given. He felt guilty about enjoying teasing the Israeli, but not guilty enough to stop.

Ziva opted for provocation. "So... the Director has given you the box to clear out your desk? Has he fired you, Tony?"

The SFA looked up briefly. "Oh, be careful what you wish for, Probationary Agent David." He put the file aside, lying it, blank label outwards, on the corner of his desk, (Ziva glared when she realised she'd been wound up deliberately,) and began to study the one Aydie had given him, with complete concentration. He absolutely needed a few minutes to regain his equilibrium before he could deal with the task ahead of him.

For a while there was silence; one outwardly composed and inwardly tumultuous agent, one anxious one, and two fuming. The only time the monotony was broken was when Agent Martin walked past, pausing in the gap of the bull pen to raise an eyebrow at Tony, who grinned back at her. "There's only one right answer," he told her, and she went off towards the stairs. He watched her, just as she'd watched him earlier on.

Finally, after he'd studied the orange folder for a while, Tony stood up and walked over to Tim's desk. He held the file out. "It might be useful for you to know about this too, Tim," he said thoughtfully. "The Dahlen case, almost eleven years ago. It was John Ovetts team's case, originally Metro's until they found the guy was an AWOL sailor. With a huge bank balance. No forensics ever found; case went cold. Bugged the blazes out of John until the day he retired, and still does. I look at it from time to time, to see if I can add anything to update him with; never had any luck until Aydie reminded me last night that she was on the original Metro team."

All three listeners' ears twitched at that 'last night' comment, but Tony didn't care. He'd maybe crash later, but right now he was flying, and he didn't care about _anything_.

"Ah," Ziva said dismissively, "so it is because it came from Agent Martin that it is important."

Tony kept looking at Tim. "There are her official notes and reports, plus –" at that point the glare Ziva was giving Tim from behind Tony's back got the better of him, as he remembered what she'd said earlier about _that _file.

"Why would I want it, Tony? I've got enough cold cases of my own without you putting one of yours on me."

"Like I said, Tim, it just might be useful to know." He was still holding the file out, and the younger agent wasn't taking it. "_Plus_, a very interesting set of personal notes. Why wasn't she allowed to help with the evidence gathering at the scene? She was a probie detective, she was trained. Her help would have been useful as there was a storm front coming in. Why was a shelter not erected, and a dam put up, as the scene was in the open, on a hillside, and yeah, that storm was on its way. No surprise then, that the forensic evidence was so scarce. You might be tempted to say inside involvement... John never got any sort of co-operation from them at the time."

Tony tucked the folder back under his arm, as his wrist was tired of being extended. "She has a good informant who knows about dirty money, whom they didn't want to talk to, although she offered, I mean, what would a probie's snitch know – and the info on him's missing from what was sent to John. The informant's still willing to talk, and she'd set it up if you wanted to –"

"Well then, _you_ talk to him! It's your case!"

"But if you did want to," Tony went on blithely, "you'd probably have to do it all by phone, cuz I don't think Agent Martin's going to be around DC much longer. If I've read things right, she's coming to Norfolk."

Tim realised that once again, he'd been led by the nose by Ziva, and wished he'd stayed silent. Gibbs picked up on the one word, and realised a lot of things at once.

"Coming?"

"Yeah, as my Senior Field Agent. SAIC as of twenty minutes ago. I've been briefed to set up a new team down there. And a side order of teaching a course on undercover work at FLETC."

Tim's heart sank down to his boots. He'd blown it. Left it just too late. DiNozzo was going, and he'd go remembering the last thing he'd said to him.

"New team?" Gibbs said scornfully. "What's Patrick Redmond think of that?"

"His idea. His team's snowed under with work. Pat's retiring in three weeks. He suggested two names to the Director, Stan Burley and me."

"_One of you takes over from Redmond, the other builds a new team. Which would you prefer?"_

"_Which does Stan want, Director?"_

"_He said 'let DiNozzo choose, the guy deserves a break'._

_Tony smiled; his head was spinning. Ten minutes ago he'd been hoping for a posting to Alaska at best... "That's Stan for you. It'll be a pleasure working parallel with him. If it's all the same to you, Sir, I'll build the new team." His hand shook so the coffee cup rattled. "Director... how did you know... today of all days? I was ready to crawl on my knees to Liz for an appointment with you. I'd have taken anything just to be out of here..."_

"_I know. You think I don't watch? And listen? I wasn't going to go public on this new team for a few days yet. But Burley was right. You deserve a break." He paused. "A word of warning. You're a strong man, DiNozzo – do you realise how much, just to make the team work, to support Gibbs and the rest of them, in your strength you've allowed them to see you as weak? I do __**no**__t want to see you using that method of dealing, ever again, with anyone."_

_Stunned, Tony managed to say "No, Director, I won't." Vance actually took the cup and saucer from his unresisting hand, and put it on the table, then stood up. "Take some time off, Tony; get some rest. I need you at Norfolk a week Monday to liaise with Redmond and Burley. Sort out your move, apartment, all that, get some __**more**__ rest. Liz has some files of possible candidates for you to look at, I need your choice by Tuesday latest. I'm here if you need to discuss anything." He shook his hand. "Congratulations, Senior Supervisory Agent DiNozzo."_

"_Thank you, Sir." Tony paused in the doorway as a thought struck him. "Er... not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything... but I'd like Aydie Martin as my Senior Field Agent. If she wants to."_

"_I'll call her up."_

"_Thank you, Director."_

_Vance watched Tony heading through the outer office, and felt satisfied. DiNozzo wasn't going to recover from the emotional battering overnight, but he'd given him a good head start. He had no doubts these days of the agent's abilities, and it was clear that he was still trying to improve himself. Now, if he'd been able to change his valuation of the younger man, he hoped that DiNozzo could do the same for himself. _

_In the middle of his sense of a job well done, came an unpleasant thought. He didn't want to rain on the young man's parade, but..._

"_DiNozzo, wait."_

Tony hesitated in his narrative. He'd kept it brief and bald, not wishing to give the impression of flattering himself, and now he wondered whether to go on at all. As he paused, Aydie skipped down the stairs, calling "Yes!" with a fist in the air as she went by.

Tony grinned. "Only one right answer," he called back happily, and brought himself back to the present. They needed to know, to be warned, not just have it dropped on them, and the Director hadn't told him _not_ to say anything. It'd be all over the building before long anyway.

"_Director?"_

"_Look, I overheard a conversation between you and Gibbs yesterday. I told you, I watch and listen. It's my job. What did I hear about a radio? A joke?"_

"_Sir, I don't want –"_

"_One: I already know. Two: it's your duty, Senior Supervisory Agent."_

"He _heard_, Gibbs. I didn't rat anyone out."

"Not accusin' ya of anything, DiNozzo."

"No, Gibbs, but given your usual thing for believing the worst of me, it wouldn't have been long. And if not you, another member of my _team_. Whatever... I'm out of here. Just wanted to warn you that the shit's going to hit the fan, and nothing I can do about it." He sighed. "You taught me to be a good agent, Gibbs. I'll always be grateful for that. I learned a lot from you. I wish it had all been good... Everything's up to date. Requisitions done to the end of next month, not leaving you with any unfinished work of mine." He wasn't sure if the absence of a reply from Gibbs was simply the usual stubbornness, or if it meant he'd got through.

He picked up his backpack with one hand, and the box-file with the other. "I've got a team to choose... I'll be back when it's quiet to clear my desk." Yes, he'd crash and get hopelessly emotional later; he was leaving behind almost a decade of his life and he wouldn't do it unscathed, but right now he felt icy cold – to those he would once have died for.

He turned towards the exit, but Ziva stepped into his path. "So, you are leaving because you cannot take a joke?"

"I'm leaving because I've been _promoted_, Ziva. But you're right... if I hadn't, I'd still be gone. No, I can't take a joke. Did you not hear what I just said about fans and excrement? Do you not understand the concept of actions and consequences? There's not a person in this building other than you three who thinks leaving a team-mate without back-up for two hours is a joke. You'll find out." He stepped forward as if she wasn't there, and she had to move out of his way or be shouldered out.

Tony intended to find a conference room and sit quietly with his files; he was hoping he could give Vance his choice today. He headed for Marchetti's area first, but as he walked he heard hurrying feet and an urgent calling of his name behind him. He turned slowly and waited.

"Tony..." Tim said agitatedly, "Look, Tony, I know it's too little, too late... I'm sorry. For lots of things. I don't expect you to say 'gee, how nice, let's be friends again'... it was a stupid joke..."

"Two hours without back-up isn't –"

"No, _listen_, Tony. Listen. Please. I just wanted you to know... it _was_ a joke. Really. We didn't turn the sound down on you, we just decided to tease you about it. We were down in Abby's lab trying to find a way to prove we _didn't_, not cover up that we _did_. Because... you know... you don't believe us, and _neither will anyone else_ when they find out... and Abby says there's no way of telling."

Tim shook his head. "How ironic is that? The shit's going to fly all over the room, and after everything that _has_ gone on, we're going to get what's coming to us for the one thing we _didn't_ do. I should have seen the light a long time ago, I really should... Tony, just believe this, if we never speak again... I may be a lousy joker, but I'd never, ever have hung you out to dry like that. I'm sorry." He turned to go without waiting for a reply.

"Tim."

"Yeah?" The younger agent turned slowly back, bracing himself.

"For what it's worth, I believe you – now you've just got to convince the whole of NCIS. My advice? Get yourself the hell away from Gibbs. And more especially Ziva. Somehow. You're not a coward, or a yes-man... but between the two of them you lost you somewhere. Be yourself and stop being a shadow... maybe we will speak again one day, and you can tell me about it." Tony turned away before he lost it completely.

NCISNCISNCIS

She'd found him in the conference room, staring blankly out of the window.

"Hey, c'mon. My team wants to say goodbye properly. Archie and Ben are coming too. We're all going to get a bit drunk, and a bit tearful."

They'd done just that. Then she'd dragged him back to her place...

Now she lay in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest. Streetlamp gold eased into the room between half-closed curtains, and washed across bare skin; the traffic noise was a muted drone. Sated and quiet, they lay still but for Tony's right hand, idly stroking her shoulder. He sighed softly.

"DiNozzo, I can hear you thinking. Give yourself a break. Forget them, at least for now."

"Wasn't thinking about them."

Aydie pushed herself up on her elbows, and tucked the duvet respectably around them both. If she didn't, they weren't going to concentrate on conversation. She looked down at him. "What, then?" He struggled for a reply. "You..."

"Oh, hey... do _not_ tell me you're feeling guilty..."

"Well..."

She leaned down and kissed him. "Tony... either this is what it is... two consenting adults humping their blues away, and I'm... fine with that... or it'll be more."

He touched her face. "More?"

"You know how it is with women... they see something good that's broken, they just have to fix it."

"Good? You want to fix me?"

"Oh, yeah."

He pulled her back down close to him. "I'd never hurt you, you know that? Not knowingly, not willingly."

She smiled softly. "If I didn't know that, we wouldn't be doing this. D'you trust me the same way?"

He nodded. "You're something else, Eh-_deet_ Mar-_tan_."

"So're you. Sssh, sleep now."

As they drifted off, she was sure she heard him whisper, "More would be good..."

**AN: Just an epilogue now, I think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thanks yet again to all the people who weren't signed in – and to those others I couldn't reply to personally. I'm still amazed at and grateful for the number of thoughtful, constructive comments I've received. **

**To ncis fan who said working with Stan would be good, we'll see him a bit, but I don't think there'll be a sequel where we can see them working together, because many readers don't actually care for stories where a core character works with a whole lot of OCs and the other original team members are never seen. Sorry I led you to believe the radio was off: my bad... in the end I just can't credit Tim doing it, which is one reason why the ep bugs me so much. **

**I also wasn't sure about where I'd take Taydie; it was either a one night stand to make them feel better then they'd get on with the work, or it was a life thing. Some concerned, and always kindly put reviews and feedback have made the decision for me, so thanks to you!**

**Beware, you know my opinion of Ziva... and I really hope this is the epilogue! Hops about a bit... tying up loose ends.**

Take a Deep Breath

Chapter 5

(Begins just after Tony left.)

Tim walked slowly back to the bullpen; slowly because he needed to think, but hell, there wasn't enough time... Take the day off? Quit and give in to ComTop or Logicor's latest wooing? He ground his teeth and huffed a denial; Tony had told him he wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to prove him wrong. As he moved towards his station, he saw the orange folder, still sitting on the edge of Tony's desk, closest to his own, pointing towards it invitingly. Tony was still telling him something. He picked it up as he went by.

Ziva noted his slight pallor, and said, "So... a tearful goodbye? Surely, Tim, now you can be thankful he is gone. Spending time on regrets is a weakness you do not need."

Tim just looked at her as he sat down. How had it taken him this long to wise up?

Gibbs snapped, "McGee, I _suggest_ you get over to that desk. Look for the form for upgrading to Senior Field Agent."

He held the orange folder like a talisman; he knew what he was going to do, and resolve surged up inside him. He stood, and walked over to the Marine's desk. "With respect, Gibbs, no."

"What did you say?"

Tim didn't raise his voice. "I said no, Gibbs. Senior Field Agent of _what_? The team's shot to pieces; it'll never be the same without Tony – and I'm partly responsible for that. And I don't know _why_ I didn't see it before."

"What did Tony say to you? How can you fall for –" Ziva began, but Tim cut her off.

"Tony told me he believed that I didn't turn the radio off, which is more than I hoped for. He also pointed out again, that we'll be lucky if anyone else does. I'll take my knocks, but not on the remains of my team. I'm going to ask the Director for a transfer." Still holding the orange folder, he went away towards the stairs.

For a moment there was silence; then Ziva said, "Well, then, Gibbs, shall I look for the form?"

Gibbs came out of his stupor and looked at her as if she were mad. "No, _Probationary Agent David_, you will not."

NCISNCISNCIS

(Very early Monday morning)

"Special Agent DiNozzo. Come in. I wasn't expecting to see you for a while yet – I thought you were taking some time off to prepare for your new team."

"I er... I needed to talk to you, Director."

"_You're quiet again." He handed her a mug of fresh coffee, and dredged up a smile, but it was an anxious one. "DiNo, its all right. I told you last night..."_

"_Would it really be all right, if I told you last night was wrong?"_

"_Well... no, but I went into it with my eyes open. I told you, I wanted to fix you."_

_Tony took the mug he'd just given her from her hand and set it down on the table, then pulled her close. "You want to fix me. I don't want to __**break**__ you."_

_She put her head on his shoulder. "If being married to the most boring, repressive man in the entire USA didn't break me – "_

"_The job, Aydie. If we're an item, I don't think we can work together. And before you ask... this time yesterday I hadn't a clue about this – but I __**want**__ us to be an item. Lost Gibbs, the team... only just found you and here I go opening up my heart again. Is that stupid? I don't want to lose you – is that putting too much on you?"_

"_DiNo... I knew the moment I first laid eyes on you. We'll figure something. If it came to it I'd walk away from the job before I'd walk away from you."_

"_Aydie..." he breathed something like a sob, and buried his face in her hair._

"So you're together, then? Suddenly? And on Friday, when you asked for Martin as your SFA, you really didn't know?"

"I wouldn't have asked, Director. I don't want to put her career in jeopardy, and as the subordinate and less experienced she'd be first to go."

"This rule's an ethical thing..."

"Director, I _know_. A superior can take advantage – the rule exists to protect the subordinate."

Vance smiled thinly. "And the superior against the manipulative underling. It exists; it's not for you or Edith, but if I allow you to break it, others will say why not us."

Tony nodded seriously. "I wanted to be up front with you. Not going to start my new position with a cover up."

Vance thought for a moment. "Yes, you are," he said finally. "At least for now. You're a sensible man; team leader as soon as you get your team together. You don't either of you say a word to anyone, and you resolve the situation however _you_ see fit, as soon as you possibly can. Find a way. Good luck."

NCISNCISNCIS

Abby's music was still playing, but not so loudly, and the bounce, although not gone, was not nearly as zesty as he was used to. "Abby." She heard him above the music and whirled round; beginning to launch herself as she turned, but stopping herself abruptly.

"Tony... I thought you were so mad at me you'd gone without saying goodbye!"

He stepped into the lab. "I _was _mad, Abby... I was so mad about a lot of things I thought you were trying to cook the evidence to protect them... When Tim told me what you were really doing, I felt a bit bad, but no way was I going to say goodbye to anyone the mood I was in. Just wished you'd told me..."

"Me too, Tony. Will you come back and see me? Can... can I hug you?"

He smiled; a smile full of sadness and the joy of old friendship and new beginnings.

NCISNCISNCIS

Ducky and Jimmy had refused to say goodbye. "We'll meet on cases, dear boy. And we'll visit." Ducky patted his hand, and whispered, in a most conspiratorial way, "You and the lovely Agent Martin."

"_Ducky..." _

NCISNCISNCIS

At first, Tim worked as a solo agent; until Dave Marchetti, needing a fourth on his team, and being a decent man at heart, reluctantly accepted the Director's request to take him on. He was now without a Senior Field Agent, but wouldn't consider someone suspected of leaving his team-mate without back-up for the position. He tended to agree with Vance that it had just been a very foolish joke, which had backfired spectacularly on its perpetrator; if the Director had believed otherwise, neither McGee nor David would still be around the agency.

Tim bit the bullet; he'd no intention of being driven out, it was a bad joke and now he was paying, as he told every new person who had a go at him. He was learning the difference between being DiNozzoed and being viciously hazed, and he sucked it up, defending himself calmly. In the meantime, the orange folder was his constant companion.

He followed money trails; he built snippets of evidence into a tapestry that gradually gained more colours. He called Aydie, and asked her to set up a meeting with her informant. Once he was on Marchetti's team, he worked in his spare time; everyone in the building could see that he was trying, and people gradually began to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"It was still a stupid joke," a passing agent snarled at him, 'accidentally' catching him in the ribs with his elbow.

"I've been saying that for six weeks," Tim replied calmly, and went on his way.

He kept a weather eye on Gibbs and Ziva; there wasn't a lot he could do, but he deflected what nastiness he could his way. The Director shook his head, looking down from the mezzanine; there was something about McGee these days that reminded him of DiNozzo. And holy shee-hut, if he hadn't just solved that cold case.

NCISNCISNCIS

Stan Burley was just about the most easy-going, affable person Tony knew, with the possible exception of Ducky. Around child abusers or people who preyed on old folks, maybe not so much... but right now, the two team leaders had kicked up chairs to a long side table under a window where the sun streamed in, and spread papers all over it, comparing notes. It had taken this long for Tony to assemble his team; the two young agents he wanted had both had to come from duties in other countries, but Tony had been prepared to wait, and the day after tomorrow they'd arrive.

He was wondering how to broach a tricky subject. He needed to sort it before his team went into the field, and knew he should just take a deep breath and get on with it. He took a swig of coffee, and cleared his throat for the third time in as many minutes, but still couldn't get the words out; things would be drastic for himself and Aydie if –

Stan chuckled. "I've already spoken to my team," he said with that completely sunny smile that had fooled many a perp.

"What?"

"Look, Tony, I've been here three weeks, and most of that's been waiting for Patrick to retire." He laughed again. "Helluva party, wasn't it... Anyhoos, we all thought, all six of us get on really well, and no-one's formed any particular bonds yet... except you and Agent Martin of course..."

Tony's jaw dropped open. "Burley! What are you saying?"

This time Stan's guffaw was unrestrained. "I'm saying that _they_ said that we could throw all our files up in the air and see where they came down... except that Aydie needs to work for _me_, yes?"

"How the heck... _Stan_... I've been worrying for weeks –"

"How? My wife noticed. Nearly a week ago now. She sees these things. Why the hell didn't you open your mouth, Bozo?"

Tony was spared the need to answer as Aydie came into the room just then, with Stan's SFA, Will Matthews. Will spoke in his deep voice; "So, we been traded yet?" Tony leaned slowly forwards and banged his head on the table.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs and Ziva didn't even like each other's company these days; because they were down to two members, the MCRT had had to move from their large bullpen into a much smaller area at the back, where they encroached on each other, and got on each other's nerves. "No-one in the whole building wants to work with you," another female agent had told Ziva brutally. She was still peeved that Gibbs would not promote her; Gibbs was still irritated that she had the nerve to ask. He missed his real Senior Field Agent, and, knowing that he'd never get him back and it was his own fault in the first place that he'd lost him, he didn't see any reason to hold back on his bad temper.

"Dammit, Leon, I need my space back. Find me a decent Senior Field Agent, and we can get back to _our_ bullpen!"

"You think I haven't been trying, Gibbs? The truth is, everyone knows how little you backed your last one, and _nobody wants to work for you_. And if I actually managed to find you someone, would you restrain Agent David? Or just let her loose again?"

"Then get me DiNozzo back!"

"I'm not going to drag him back here for you to start on all over again, Jethro. Even if I could."

"I'm not going to –"

"Jethro, if you think that much of him, and I've seen no evidence of it – you could get off your ass and try yourself."

That evening, anyone brave enough to walk that way down to the break room, would have noticed Special Agent Gibbs' desk was empty.

NCISNCISNCIS

The white Buick Encore had blue tinted windows, and the proprietor of the fruit and vegetable stall at the Eastern Market thought it looked a real sissy girlmobile. And it was illegally parked. Trust a woman to park like that. His sexist thoughts would have been very satisfying to the occupants of the SUV; it was the least obvious, official or threatening car from their pool, and that was why they'd chosen it.

They watched the slim, dark haired woman as she browsed the stalls; she had to come this way in the end, they knew; they'd deliberately parked between herself and her vehicle.

"She's fit, strong, intelligent and resourceful," one man said to the other. "She's highly proficient in hand to hand combat, a natural polyglot, with a particular talent for European and arabic languages. She's a good shot, deadly with knives – I wouldn't like to think how many she's carrying right now – used to working alone and unsupervised, and experienced in middle eastern affairs, of course."

The other man chuckled. "I hear she's also headstrong, arrogant, and poor at taking orders. She's shown herself to be duplicitous, ready to betray and claim she's the one who's been betrayed, and has a mean tongue and an ego she's in danger of falling off."

"She's exactly the sort of recruit we need, then," the first man said.

The woman was walking towards them, and they stepped out of the vehicle. "Agent David."

"Kort," Ziva said, taken aback.

"Agent David, this is my Section Head, Lance Dreyer. Er... we have an offer for you."

The next day, everyone going down to the break room noticed that Ziva's desk was empty.

NCISNCISNCIS

Now that they _could_, they'd chosen a small house at Eagle Point; there was a large pond and a flock of marauding Canada geese that Aydie delighted in feeding, squirrels out the back, and an ice cream parlour just down the street. It was the clincher as far as Aydie was concerned; her husband had never wanted to go in such places, statistics said that fifty percent of food poisoning cases were caused by ice cream. You never knew what was in it.

Three days ago, Tim had called, just to let Tony know that his orange folder had done its job. Tony had been surprised, but not, at how pleased he'd been to hear the Probie's voice, and invited him down any time. Tim would come, as soon as he had some time off.

That was good, but Aydie could see that it had unsettled her man.

He stood looking out of the kitchen window in the early morning; the geese were still sleeping by the pond, and everything was still.

Aydie came in, wrapped in a huge towel, her hair in another one. "You're doing that quiet thing again," she said softly.

Tony huffed. "I dreamed about Gibbs, last night," he confessed.

"Let me guess. Not for the first time?"

"Vance tells me he quit. I'm still kinda surprised. I felt like he'd go on for ever... "

Aydie thought for a moment. "Breakfast," she said finally. "It's a long drive to DC."

Behind the quiet back lots and cedar fence panels of Gibbs' neighbourhood, if you knew where to look, if you walked down a path and crossed a footbridge, a stream had been backed up by a weir into a pond very different from the one by Tony's house, with its open space and green lawns.

This one was rough edged, with reeds, hornwort and nettles, and overhanging willows. There were a few small piers for fishermen to sit quietly in the shade, and Gibbs, hunched with his back to the path, hadn't moved in two hours. The float on the water hadn't moved either, and Gibbs didn't really care if it never did. He hadn't worked on anything in the basement for weeks; he'd never imagined he'd feel hemmed in down there. He'd dug out his ancient fishing pole, and taken to sitting here thinking, sinking in his regrets for hours at a time.

Damn fool. What was it about him that made him continually defy reason and common sense? His conscience was a poor timid little creature that got screamed at when it dared to raise its head. _Don't tell me what to do!_

What was it about him that made him see a smile and instead of smiling back, wipe it off a face? Why had he treated Tony that way? Why, when Vance had said go get him, had he chickened out and come here to lick his wounds instead? He missed him...

Why had he systematically destroyed everything worth keeping? _I'm __**sorry**__, Tony... _Why had he let Tim and Ziva go unchecked, until finally McGee himself had seen the sense he refused to see? Tim was suffering now because of it; and he didn't even know where Ziva was or how she was feeling.

What was he going to do with the rest of his life? Sit here every day and ask the same questions? Leroy Jethro Gibbs, veteran of Desert Storm; feared investigator, staring into space and getting nowhere? Damn fool.

He probably dozed; he knew he did sometimes, because he'd open his eyes and the sun would be setting; but this time it wasn't the fading light and dropping temperature, but voices in the distance that brought him back to alertness. People were walking the path, and he sat still, not intending to be noticed. Damn, footsteps on the bridge. He prepared to grunt a quiet greeting and hope they'd leave him alone...

A known, missed, loved voice behind him said tentatively, "Gibbs."

**AN: Only read through once – really tired... I hope the solving of the Taydie problem doesn't come over as too contrived.**


End file.
